The North Actually Remembers
by Thaeonblade
Summary: Jon Snow and Sansa Stark struggle to rally the North against Ramsey. Sansa faces her demons and comes to grips with her identity as Jon gathers unexpected allies in his battle to reclaim Winterfell as the Winds of Winter bring the Dead and the White Walkers upon their doorstep. Pro-Stark AU of Season 6; Spoilers for GOT season 6 and prior seasons within
1. We are Alone

**Disclaimer:**

 **The following is a non-profit fan-based mini-series written for fun and not in any way intended for profit.**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire is owned as the intellectual property of George RR Martin and published by Bantam Books. The HBO Adaptation of Martin's work titled Game of Thrones is owned by George RR Martin, HBO, David Benioff and D. B. Weiss.**

 **Support the official release by buying and reading the A Song of Ice and Fire book series and buying and watching the Game of Thrones official seasons. Personally, I say stick to Seasons 1 through 4 cause it goes downhill after Season 5. But that's just me personally, my point is to support the official owners and creators by watching/buying their stuff.**

 **Okay, on with the show**

* * *

 **The Onion Knight**

"What do we have?" Davos Seaworth inquired as he stood beside the last surviving children of Eddard Stark. Their moods were as cold and quiet as the weather outside of their tent.

"House Mormont; House Forrester; House Mazin; House Hornwood; House Talhart...and the Free Folk." Jon read off with increasing frustration. "The Fucking Free Folk are truer Northerners than the actual Northerners."

"Our people just went through a war, Jon." Sansa replied, understanding her half-brother's frustrations. "They're depleted and tired, we knew that convincing anyone to help us would be difficult-"

"Our father told us that the Northmen weren't cowards."

"Father was wrong about many things."

"Why couldn't he be right about this." Jon muttered in defeat. For all of their father's honor and justice, it was no secret that those very same attributes were what led to his death. But this truth did nothing to ease Jon's mood. "Why can't there be anyone else in this bloody world who has some honor? Courage? Loyalty? When did these things become bad? Are we so hopeless that our only chance to survive is to become the very monsters that we despise?"

That question struck hard in Sansa's mind. It was a question that suddenly made her uncertain and doubtful and it didn't take long to figure out why.

"Even on the Wall, bastards and outlaws mumbled on how our father's rule allowed a maid to walk freely on the roads without fear." Jon remarked, his fingers soothing his fowled eyebrows. "Does the North remember nothing of that? Of how my family defended the North from the Free Folk? The Andals? The Mad King? That it was Brandon the Builder who built the Wall that guards the realms of men? That was not done by cruel men; by selfish men; scheming men; kinslayers, rapists or murderers."

"Perhaps it is as I feared." Davos apologetically spoke. "The Northmen are men like all others in Westeros. Some fight for honor and some stay for fear."

"And how will that help us against the Long Night?" Jon abruptly stood up and turned to leave the tent. "I'm off to sleep, you have command Lord Davos."

"Ser Davos." The Onion Knight reminded Jon as he exited the tent, leaving Davos alone with a quiet Sansa. "Your brother is not mad at you. He has much on his mind and has been through a lot."

"I know." Sansa had been told of how her brother had been killed and Davos wasn't sure if she truly believed it. Davos didn't fault the girl, there were many things that he still couldn't believe even after seeing them with his own eyes.

Things like the shadow that Melisandre sent to murder Stannis' brother, Renly.

Or the Dire Wolf Ghost, a beast that was supposed to be extinct and yet a white wolf the size of a pony followed Jon like a quiet shadow.

Or seeing a dead man rise back to life thanks to the Red Woman's power.

"Still, we are not completely without hope." Davos stated as he pointed to the board portraying the North. "The Northern Mountain Clans may yet fight for us; The Cannogmen led by Howland Reed have never broken faith-"

"Neither did the Umbers and they gave my baby brother to that monster." Sansa coldly countered, referring to the treachery of Smalljon Umber. "The Karstarks are kin to my house and they have joined the Boltons. Face it, we're alone...the North has forgotten us."

"You defeat yourself with such talk-"

"What does it matter? It's true." Sansa bitterly spat. "Ramsey outnumbers us 3 to 1. He has the Karstarks, the Umbers, Ryswells and Dustins all vouching for him. And even the Freys are sending some men to help Ramsey."

While Davos could not prove that Ramsey killed his father, stepmother and baby brother, the monster's reputation was enough to where the former smuggler did not doubt that Ramsey Bolton is a kinslayer. Especially with rumors on how Ramsey had killed his trueborn brother and Roose's original heir, Domeric. And Sansa was speaking truthfully, Ramsey commanded at lest 6000 men at Winterfell while Eddard Stark's children could barely gather together 2500 men. 2000 of whom were lightly armed wildlings, 62 from Lady Lyanna of House Mormont; 143 from the Landed Knight Ser Mors of House Mazin; 200 men led by Larence Snow, the bastard of Lord Halys Hornwood; 30 men led by Asher Forrester; and 70 men led by Brandon and Beren of House Talhart.

Worst was that without Jon, the animosity between the free folk and northmen would boil over into bloodshed.

But Davos was never one to shy from honest speech. A habit he kept even before becoming Hand to the Late King Stannis Baratheon.

"That is no excuse for giving up." Davos admonished the girl, who merely listened to him speak. "Aye, I won't tell you to ignore the reality of our odds. I won't tell you that we're not running low on supplies and that we may have no help coming. I won't lie and say that Ramsey's numbers mean nothing. But I will not let you defeat yourself with such talk of hopelessness. That is worst than having the enemy defeat you, believe me. There is nothing foolish about hope."

"Did hope save my father and brother?" Sansa countered as if a shadow were on her form. "Did it whisk me away from Joffrey or Ramsey-"

"I never said that hope would save you. But hope is part of being a human being." Davos stated. "I imagine that you've been through much hardship yourself. Watching your father die, not knowing where your sister is, being tormented by the Lannisters and Boltons...not sure if you'll be allowed to see another daybreak. But you cannot let that darken your soul, Sansa Stark. You cannot let it chill you of all care and love. Don't let it block you from having hope even when things seem hopeless."

Sansa did not speak, she merely looked down at the map. Davos could tell that silent tears were forming in her beautiful blue eyes.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts, my lady." Davos stated with a small bow and turned to leave. "But one more word. You have been hurt by monsters just like your brother has been. Don't let what they did to you, turn you into one of them."

"What if they already have?" Sansa asked without looking upon the saddened Onion Knight. "What if they've already torn away everything from me and turned me into a monster like them?"

"Then take back what they took from you." Davos answered. "You will always be Sansa Stark as long as hold onto that which makes you Sansa. Your father died for you, not for the monster you think you are." As Davos left the tent, he heard Lady Sansa sob and immediately regretted his words.

While it is popularly known that Eddard Stark died declaring the Late King Stannis as Robert's Rightful Heir to the throne, the truth was more complicated as Davos himself discovered. He had heard the tale from fishers, merchants and sailors who'd witnessed Lord Stark's execution on the Steps of Baelor's Sept and was surprised to learn that Eddard had actually declared Joffrey as the rightful king.

Stannis was not surprised.

 _"There were few things that Lord Stark held above honor."_ Stannis had told Davos years ago when he'd learned the news from Davos. _"If Robert's to be believed, Ned would sacrifice anything for his family. He even took in his bastard despite how it would infuriate his wife and besmirch his honor."_

 _"Perhaps Robert could have learned from Lord Stark, your grace."_ Davos replied as Stannis inclined his head, waiting for the Onion Knight to speak further. " _A king's will can unmake a bastard and Robert had many of them. If he'd even taken in one of them and acknowledged them as his child as Ned did with Jon...perhaps this coming war could have been prevented."_

Stannis's hard expression shifted little as he held a miniature of the Baratheon Stag. _"Assuming that he'd keep track of them. Robert only told me of a few...Mya, a pretty girl in the Vale now wed to Eddard's friend, Lord Silverfyre; Edric, died while young...I believe poisoned by the Queen or Renly; twins in the west whom the Queen had killed; and the babe Barra...murdered in her mother's arms. Jon Arryn wrote to me of another bastard, a blacksmith who looked just like Robert as a youth, as tall as him as well. But he's likely dead at Joffrey's hands as well."_

 _"If Robert were more responsible, a great many things would be better."_ Stannis coldly lamented. _"But what's done is done, the Queen and the bastard Joffrey are ensuring that no true bastard of Robert's will challenge them and the realm is tearing itself apart. I am now the rightful king and I will bring order to the Realm. Those who do not bend the knee will be destroyed, Ser Davos. All of them."_

Yet, Stannis was now dead and the Realm still bled.

A monstrous rapist and kinslayer now ruled in the North; Euron Greyjoy now held the Seastone Throne; The Faith, Lannisters and Tyrells were clawing at each other over the false boy king; Dorne was in the midst of a Civil War between Oberyn Martell's bastards and Doran Martell's last surviving child, Princess Arianne; the Vale was being held back by a sickly and weak child; the Riverlands were bloodied and fraught with civil conflict; and the Stormlands now held no official liege with House Baratheon rendered extinct.

Davos himself was barely holding onto to hope.

All his children died for naught in Blackwater Bay. His lands and keep in the Rainwood were seized from him by the Crown with his wife and children executed at Joffrey's command. Any knights and men-at-arms that he could have contributed to the cause of the Stark Children were slain at Winterfell or remain missing and likely frozen under the Northern Snow.

But he would hold.

If Westeros was to be restored and prepared for the Coming Winter and those who came with it, hope had to be kindled somewhere.

The North would have to do.

* * *

 **Snow of Winterfell**

"Snow." Jon sat on a log and put his hands up to the blazing fire. Tormund Giantsbane roasted a squirrel on a stick beside him. Tormund was now the effective leader of the Free Folk after the massacre of Hardhome caused the deaths of many other chieftains and leaders. He was also a fierce friend of Jon's, ironic as a short while ago, they were trying to kill each other when Tormund led a sortie against the Night's Watch and Jon fought against him.

"Tall-talker." The Wildling laughed and slapped Jon's shoulder.

"Anyone else joining us Lord Snow?" On Jon's left was Larence Snow, the bastard of the Late Lord Halys Hornwood and a ward of House Glover before he left to join Jon and rally what he could of his father's house. The young man was a year or so younger than Jon and was very bright despite his buff and muscular appearance. However, Jon had no doubt of the boy's courage.

"Not yet, that just means more glory for the rest of us." Jon jested, though the laugh died in his throat. Too much was at stake to joke of their odds. "Still, it seems that the bloody wildlings are truer northmen than the actual northmen."

"We are the true northmen." Tormund countered and ripped off a piece of the squirrel. He offered it to Larence who accepted as he caught the thrown leg in his hand. "You'll are the southerners."

"Better us than the men south of the Neck, right?" Larence made no secret of his dislike for the gods of the South or the Andal traditions of the kingdoms south of the Marsh where the cannogmen held sway. "Least we share the same gods, that's got to count for something, no?"

"Fair point, boy." Tormund agreed. Unlike most other lords and knights, Larence held no animosity towards Tormund or the free folk. Furthermore, Jon saw a small friendship growing between the wildling raider and the Hornwood bastard. Or perhaps Larence saw something in Tormund that Lord Halys had denied his son. "Snow. Shouldn't you be sleepin?"

"I tried." Jon admitted, his white direwolf Ghost laid beside Jon's log and chewed on a deer bone. "I keep dreaming of the daggers." He still bore the scars both on his body and his mind. He still remembered the faces of the men he'd called brothers as they stabbed him in the gut. Even his own squire, Olly, they'd betrayed him and left him as a corpse upon the snow.

"What daggers?" Larence inquired.

"The daggers of them wights at Hardhome." Tormund answered, covering for Jon as the truth of his resurrection was only known to a few. Officially, Jon was released from his vows on the authority of King Robert Baratheon as a last decree that had been late to arrive at the Wall. It was a long shot, but it was the only option and King Robert was the only king whose word would be honored without question. After all, no one would believe that Jon was released from his vows by dying and being resurrected by the Red Priestess.

Still, the lad was convinced. "Can we beat them?"

Jon looked at Larence. "They can be killed. Fire kills the wights and the Walkers can be slain by dragon glass and valyrian steel." Jon had tested the later personally when he used the ancestral sword of House Mormont, Longclaw, to cut down a White Walker at Hardhome. "But first, we need to retake the North."

"Till then, you need a woman." Tormund suggested with a laugh, Jon blushed and looked to the snow. "You ain't a crow no more, you can stick that member o'yours to a nice pretty gal now! I'd offer my Munda for you to steal, but the bastard's already gotten her."

This surprised Jon as Larence's face turned red. "I...I intend...to...to..marry her-"

"Don't apologize to me boy! You got my daughter fair and square, she's your woman now." Tormund laughed and brought out a knife to cut out the squirrel's skull. "They say you've got wit and courage, but Munda thinks you've got a bigger cock than you've got sense. Tell ya what though boy, you treat me girl well or I'll rip off your member and beat you bloody with it." Tormund kept laughing as Larence's face turned pale now.

"You're scaring the boy." Jon admonished and then said to Larence. "But he's not lying, don't give him reason to go through on that threat."

"If he's scared of me, then he'll shit himself against what we've seen." Tormund said with a more grave voice. "Winter is coming, ain't it?"

"Aye." Jon agreed and looked into the fire. "Winter is Coming." Those words always chilled Jon when his father Eddard had said them. All of the great, strong, lesser and minor houses all had their mottos. Declarations of strength, warnings against enemies, oaths of friendship, or something to the like. But the Stark words alone were a warning. Not against the might of the Lords of Winterfell, but against winter itself. It was a warning that winter would come and those who were not prepared for it were doomed. The North remembered that warning, for winter always hit the North harder than any other region and father had always wanted to ensure that his lands were prepared with stored supplies and shelter for those did not have any of their own.

But there was a second meaning that even the Starks had forgotten.

For when Winter comes, the dead would come with it. Raised by the cold magic of the White Walkers who would return upon the winds of winters.

Now had come the Winter of their Discontent.

And the North was unprepared.

For the North had forgotten.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **This short series will essentially be my middle-finger to HBO for fucking up the North.**

 **To make a really long rant-worthy story short, this short series is basically a "How the North Arc in Season 6 should have been" AU. And despite the bleak nature of the first chapter, thinks will pick up in terms of hope and so on as I bring the North closer in character to what it was in the books. Characters from the books will be included along with some other things of my own imagination.**

 **It will also feature "take-thats" to the show and several aspects of Season 6 including its portrayal of Sansa as a "strong empowered heroine" even though she basically manipulates her brother and is content to let him die while withholding vital need-to-know information.**

 **If that's not your cup of tea or you actually liked the North Arc in Season 6, then feel free to discontinue reading and there won't be any hard feelings.**

 **And now, I'm off to bed.**

 **Later.**


	2. Sun from Black

**Disclaimer:**

 **The following is a non-profit fan-based mini-series written for fun and not in any way intended for profit.**

 **A Song of Ice and Fire is owned as the intellectual property of George RR Martin and published by Bantam Books. The HBO Adaptation of Martin's work titled Game of Thrones is owned by George RR Martin, HBO, David Benioff and D. B. Weiss.**

 **Support the official release by buying and reading the A Song of Ice and Fire book series and buying and watching the Game of Thrones official seasons. Personally, I say stick to Seasons 1 through 4 cause it goes downhill after Season 5. But that's just me personally, my point is to support the official owners and creators by watching/buying their stuff.**

 **Okay, on with the show.**

* * *

 **Asher**

Flashes of his brother's death awoke a man from restless sleep. He exhaled as his heart raced, looking down at the sleeping blond slender beauty who laid nude under the furs him.

A woman who had forsaken her family for him and risked everything for peace.

And it was all for naught.

Asher Forrester sat beside his lover Gwyn looking at her. He couldn't sleep despite Gwyn's attempts to exhaust him. His sister Talia and Ryon were now sheltered at Bear Island, for which he was grateful to Lady Mormont. Asher had wanted his beloved to go with them, but she refused and Asher did not have the will to resist her.

Not after everything he had lost.

His father had been slain at the Red Wedding and all of his family save for Talia and Ryon were dead. Their home destroyed and only 30 men were left to the power of House Ironrath led by an exiled sellsword who was too stubborn to admit that their cause was hopeless.

"Iron from Ice." The words of his house were meant to mean that hardship only made his family stronger. Instead, hardship has all but destroyed their house. And with the Winds of Winter blowing the Long Night upon the North, Asher was uncertain as to why he joined the Stark children. Vengeance? Justice? Or a last ill-fated shot that was taken just to take it?

He was even fighting alongside wildlings.

Then again, at least a wildling is honest about wanting you dead. Unlike the traitors who murdered his father and brothers.

A howl broke through the night.

"Is it Ghost again?" Gwyn stirred from the furs, rubbing her eye as Asher peeked out of their tent. "Asher?"

"That wolf is as quiet as a mouse." Asher saw the great white wolf that followed around Eddard Stark's bastard. That red eyed direwolf hardly made a sound as it moved. "I could stalk into a tent and no one would know it was there till a man was ripped into flesh and bone. This is a different call."

Gwyn brought the furs over her form fearfully. "I thought there were only six Stark wolves?"

"Aye. Ghost is supposed to be the last of his kin." Asher stated, thinking of how he was also among the last of his family. "But this is another wolf...the question is whose wolf is it?"

* * *

 **Jon**

 _The wind blew specks of ice upon his fur, snow stuck to his paws as he sniffed the air. He padded forth and heard again the howl of his long forgotten kin. He knew that two were gone forever, a third was beyond his reach in the lands of eternal winter and a fourth was gathering her pack for the feast of the crows. This howl was unfamiliar and yet, he knew that it was his brother._

Jon opened his eyes and gasped. He looked about his tent and looked at his hands. No frost was upon them and yet he swore that he felt the chilling wind upon his skin. He felt like he was a beast on all fours, moving through the wild in search of something long lost.

"Ghost?" Jon called and saw that his wolf was gone. He shook his head, rising out of his mat to see what his Dire Wolf had gone after this time. Worst yet was that the damned creature was so quiet. He hardly ever made a sound unless he was threatening someone he didn't like. Still, Ghost was his constant and faithful companion and Jon would not have the wolf any other way. "Where are you?"

When Jon opened the tent flaps, he saw the tracks of Ghosts' paw prints. Anyone else would have missed them, but Jon just "knew" the markings of his own dire wolf. He knew that Ghost had made them and chose to follow them. He passed a wildling on watch and then a Hornwood archer. Most of the camp was asleep with only a few on guard in case the Boltons decided to take the initiative. The only one not sleeping in a tent was Wun-Wun who laid in the center of the camp upon a pile of sacks and mammoth skins brought south by the freefolk.

There was no wall for the camp, just a trench and few hastily made barricades to prevent a cavalry from utterly decimating the small army as Stannis had done to a far greater host. As he walked through the snow and cold, Jon pondered whether or not stopping Mance Rayder was the right option after all. If nothing else, Mance was honorable and his great host of a 100 thousand would have been a great buffer against the White Walkers.

However, many of the people following Rayder were not honorable.

If Hardhome was good for anything, it was that the survivors of that massacre were those most able and willing to coexist with the people of Westeros. Most notably the Thenns who were even bloodthirsty by Free Folk standards. There was also another raider named the Weeper who had a strong contingent that wanted to resume conflict with the Night's Watch. No word had been heard from them since Hardhome, Jon figured that they were dead like all but Tormund's following.

Tormund was bold and fearless, but he was not stupid. He understood that his people were on the brink of extinction and doing anything to upset the already tenuous situation of the freefolk would be tantamount to suicide. Hell, he only joined Jon out of a debt that the Free Folk believe can never be repaid and because Ramsey already threatened to destroy them.

Jon halted in the snow, seeing a beast snarl at him from afar. The big black thing looked like a small bear hungry for food. Jon was about to grab for his sword, but put his hand on a dagger instead. Now he recalled that he had left his valyrian bastard sword Longclaw in his tent and wondered if he could survive this beast. After all, fat and drunken Robert Baratheon killed a boar with a knife. Perhaps a younger, stronger and more alert Jon Snow could do the same to a smaller foe?

Jon never had the chance to test that idea as a white form silently stepped between Jon and the beast and growled at the black monster.

"Ghost! Stay back!" Jon called out of reflex, not realizing that Ghost was more armed than he himself. The black beast howled back, making Jon realize that it was a wolf. That realization made him lower his guard, sheath his knife as Ghost sniped at the black wolf. Then the black wolf whined and lowered its head to Ghost who licked the black wolf as Jon approached. Seeing Jon, the wolf growled again though with a lower intensity as Jon thought he recognized the wolf.

"Shaggy?" The creature beside Ghost was snarling and had large fanged teeth. But Jon recognized the thick black fur and green eyes of the monster that he approached with a smile. He was a large wolf, but there was no mistaking that it was the wolf of his baby brother. "It's me. It's Jon. Rickon's brother." Jon put out his hand, slowly ruffling the fur on Shaggy's head as it kept growling.

Shaggy poked its nose onto Jon's hand, sniffing as Ghost watched the two of them. Jon could sense Ghost's apprehension, as if it feared that Shaggy would snap off Jon's hand. The tension decreased when Shaggy licked Jon's hand and whined as it put its head on Ghost's neck. The two wolves then bounded off swiftly, Jon struggling to keep with them as they ran.

"Wait!" He called through the cold blowing snow, his boots being swallowed up by the deep snow with every step. Yet, he knew where they were as they ran.

 _Suddenly, Jon felt as though his hands were in the snow and that he was jumping up and down as he went forward. He smelt the air of death, the stench of a horse in its final hour._

Jon rubbed his eyes, looking down at his own feet and wondering if the cold was playing games with him. Or if his return from death had caused him to go mad. He had little time to dwell on his thoughts as he heard the two wolves howl in the night. He moved as fast as he could, running until he caught up to the black and white wolves.

They were upon a dead horse, it's hooves buried in the snow and its eyes glazed with lifelessness. It's fine fur was already compressed onto its rotting flesh by the cold wind and Jon would not have known that it was dead if not for its utter lack of movement.

But something was moving.

Ghost was nuzzling a cloaked girl in the snow, as Jon moved closer he could hear her whispers. He turned her over and saw her long pretty face, her pointy chin had a cut upon it and one of her small ears was almost black from frostbite. But she breathed, one of her eyes fluttered open briefling, revealing blue-grey pearls underneath scarred eyelids. If not for her eyes, she would look like Arya.

But this was not his sister.

"Ghost. Get Maester Collis." The white wolf gave a brief glance towards Shaggy and then bounded off back to camp. In the meantime, Jon picked up the girl and held her in his arms close to him for better warmth. He felt her body and realized that under the thin furs, she was lightly clothed in a torn and dirty gown. He inhaled as he reluctantly gave the girl his own furs despite the growing cold. He looked down at Shaggy who waited on Jon's command with obedience uncharacteristic of when he last saw the wolf. "Stay with me."

Amazingly, Shaggy stayed with Jon and made little sound save for his own panting. Jon had seen that the wolf had wanted to eat the horse and yet was staying by Jon as he carried this shivering girl through the cold. Shaggy's appearance brought many questions to Jon's mind now.

 _"Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon. His direwolf's skin is on my floor, come and see."_ Jon remembered the letter and yet, his baby brother's direwolf was beside him. Had Ramsey killed a different wolf and thought it was Rickon's? Or had Shaggy escaped and Ramsey merely claimed have killed Shaggy to rile up Jon further?

"Snow!" There he saw Tormund and Asher with torches in their hands, waving down Jon towards them with Ghost at Tormund's side. Other soldiers were near as well as Jon joined them and walked towards the old maester in the gathering. "Your wolf nearly gave Collis a heart attack. Knew ya wouldn't do that without good reason."

"This girl. She's frozen half to death." Jon said to the maester of House Mazin. "Help her."

"I need light and cover. Bring her this way." The old man said as Jon carried the girl and followed the old and thin maester. Shaggy however began to growl at the others who all laid hands on their weapons out of fear for the savage beast.

"Jon! Whose wolf is that!" Tormund shouted with an axe in each hand. Ghost walked out and snipped at Shaggy's ear who snipped back and suddenly, both wolves were walking in a circle around each other. Both of them growling in a display of pure aggression as wildling and northman looked on in amazement and shock.

"That's Rickon's wolf." Jon said as both wolves stopped and Shaggy submitted once more to his wiser and superior brother. "Ghost, take Shaggy to my tent. Keep an eye on him." Ghost just looked at Jon's eyes with his own red ones and a chill ran through Jon once more.

"How does he control that beast?" A man-at-arms asked as Shaggy followed Ghost through the parting crowd.

"It's the way of the wolf." Asher explained. "Ghost has proven himself as Shaggy's superior and that means he calls the shots of their pack."

"Now they're all that's left." Jon said as he turned to follow the maester. It was a somber thought and a bitter truth. There had been five pups that he and his brothers found by their dead mother. He had convinced their father to let them live as they were one for each of the Stark children and the Dire Wolf was the sigil of House Stark. The sixth had been found by Jon himself after it had wandered off from the rest or was driven away. Now, Grey Wind was dead along with its owner; Lady and Nymeria had been killed by the Lannisters or so he assumed as Sansa never spoke of it; and Summer had likely been killed by Theon.

Then again, Shaggy was supposed to be dead and here he was. Perhaps Ramsey killed a different black wolf and assumed that it was Shaggy? That meant that there was a chance that at least Summer was still alive with Bran.

Wherever his brother was. And neither Jon nor Sansa knew where to start looking for Bran or for Arya.

Two armored Mazin guards were standing vigil as they entered the maester's tent and Jon set the girl upon a mat. The maester quickly examined her and shook his head. "Poor thing...she will need dry clothes and warm soup. Any longer out there and she would be dead."

"Wait..." Asher remarked as they all looked upon the unconscious girl. "Isn't this Karstark's girl?"

"Alys?" Jon recognized her face now. He remembered an Alys Karstark from his youth. Jon remembered now, when he was a lad Rickard Karstark had brought the six year old Alys to Winterfell during a visit with his father. She had danced with Robb and had followed him almost everywhere. Jon told her that she was being annoying and she called him a rude bastard.

Jon poured water on her for that.

Robb and Arya laughed at the tale though Lady Stark was not amused and his father rebuked Jon and made him cut and gather lumber for the whole month as punishment. Later, Eddard would confide in his son that Alys did not mean offense.

 _"You should not have humiliated her. But it was rude of her to say that to you." Eddard said to an exhausted Jon, who could barely lift his arms. "She was put up to that business by her father...too young to realize what she was meant to do."_

 _"What was she supposed to do father?"_

 _"Lord Rickard wished to arrange a match between his daughter and Robb." Though still a boy, Jon understood what that meant. "But she is too young, only six. Years will come and go before they are ready to be betrothed and who knows what could happen in that time? But Lord Karstark is a prideful man...anything less than yes will offend our distant cousin."_

 _"When will Robb get a match?" Jon asked. "And...what about me?"_

 _Eddard gave his son a soft smile and ruffled his hair. "Don't worry about that right now Jon. The time for such things will come when you are older. For now, attend to your lessons and your chores. You are a boy, stay one until you become a man."_

Now Jon was a man and that annoying and sullen girl who he'd humiliated was a half-frozen woman whose eyes were now opening.

"She's waking up!" Tormund shouted to the maester as the old man poured a remedy into her open mouth and helped her swallow. Seeing that all was under hand, Tormund pat Jon on his shoulder and left the tent.

"Lord...Lord Stark..." Alys managed, her vision still clouded from her ordeal. Jon was uncertain of who she was talking about until Asher and Maester Theos looked to him. "Lord...Eddard...they said you were...dead."

"My father Eddard Stark is dead." Jon corrected the girl. "I am his bastard son, Jon Snow."

The girl gave a weak laugh. "Jon? You ruined my dress you rude bastard."

"It was a stupid dress my lady." Jon replied, taking Alys' cold hand into his own. "I figured you wouldn't miss it."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **So here we introduce Alys Karstark from the books and Asher Forrester from the Telltale game. I'll admit that most of what I know about Asher comes from wikia as I never played the game. I didn't play because the game seemed like a grimdark dramatic torture porn session and why would I want to buy and play a game where I'm doomed to lose regardless of what I do?**

 **However, I couldn't think of a reason for Asher not to want to fight and I do have a plan or two for him in future chapters.**

 **Alys absence from the Northern Arc makes sense if only for budget and casting reasons. Not to mention that she's a relatively minor character in the books with no larger impact on the plot as of yet. Here, I have a few ideas about what to do as she's also going to incorporate aspects of the character Val who've I've decided not to have in this story reluctantly. I also embellished the tale of Alys and Jon as kids for comedic effect as in the books, Alys just remembers Jon as being sullen and not fun for a six year old Alys to be around.**

 **Furthermore, Jon will be a warg as he was in the books. As for Sansa...stay tuned.**


End file.
